


Get Sherlock: Vol. I

by vestwood



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: AU, Blood, F/M, Guns, Kill Bill - Freeform, Kill Bill AU, Marylock - Freeform, Miscarriage, Murder, Pregnancy, Sherlock AU, Weapons, please check the tags before reading!, there are many triggers here!!, will add tags as time goes on
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-18
Updated: 2015-04-24
Packaged: 2018-03-18 10:14:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3565904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vestwood/pseuds/vestwood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Revenge is a dish best served cold</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter I - Wide Awake

**Author's Note:**

> Italicized text that is aligned right indicates past memories and dialogue. Any other formatting is for aesthetic purposes and should be read as normal, unless otherwise specified.  
> Comments are highly encouraged!!  
> Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to the Sherlock or Kill Bill franchises, I was heavily inspired by both and I have used parts of the scripts and characters from both in order to create this.

_"Oh, Mary. Mary, Mary. Quite contrary." The man whispered, crouching down in front of the beautiful bride, her face splattered red with her own blood. It oozed from her nose, and from a cut over the corner of her eye, which looked up at him pleadingly as he stood up straight again. There were a few other women that the Bride noticed-- no, recognized--, but she was too preoccupied with the man who stood above her. He turned away from her a moment, his gun firing once. The groom was dead then._

_The Bride's breath caught as the man turned back to her again, wiping away more of the blood on her face._

_"I hope you understand, dear Mary, that this isn't sadism--" He murmured, his handkerchief growing more blood soaked with every wipe across her face._

_"Sherlock, you can't do this." The Bride, Mary, interrupted, met with a quick slap across the face. Her breaths were short, shallow, adrenaline making everything sharp, but the wounds she'd suffered left her weak and vulnerable, especially under the circumstances which Sherlock didn't seem to grasp._

_"Interrupting someone while they are speaking is incredibly rude, Mary." He warned, standing up once again, weapon poised and pointing at her forehead._

_"It's_ your _baby--!"  
__B_ _A_ _NG._

* * *

_Ding-dong!_

Mary Morstan pulled her finger away from the doorbell, letting the sound resonate inside the small suburban home before she retracted her hand.

It wasn't long before she saw a silhouette pass behind the large, frosted-glass window, making its way to the door. 

The door opened, and Mary felt a wave of recognition wave over her as she took in the the woman in front of her.

_"You're done, Mamba. Sherlock's done with you."_

She remembered a smirk, one identical to what she saw in front of her.

"Mary?"

Those hands that had hit her and beaten her in the chapel... 

"Sally."

This was the right house.

The Bride cleared her throat, smiling gently at the look of surprise on the other woman's face.

And before Mary's able to stop herself, she's springing across the threshold of the house, tackling the other woman viciously, nails digging into skin and pulling hair.

A glass coffee table broke under the force of their bodies flying through the air. Mary was given the upper hand in the fight, holding down tightly to the woman's neck.

Somehow, Sally was able to adjust her legs under her body, effectively kicking Mary off, sending her backwards to the other side of the room, toward a small table, which collided painfully with her back. The Bride grimaced, but moved quickly, reattaching herself to the other woman's back.

The force of the attack sends them both crashing into a large, glass bookcase, shattering completely over them, though the attack continued, Mary clawing at the woman's neck vainly. Her arm was suppressed by support beam of the bookcase, the woman on the other side.

Sally stood up, running away from Mary toward the kitchen. She yanked open a drawer, but Mary couldn't see what she'd taken out. Almost in a stupor, Mary held on to her arm a moment, though there was very little time to nurse the wound once she realized that the other woman was brandishing a kitchen knife.  _Damn it._ Mary cursed mentally, reaching into her back pocket, revealing a switchblade, pushing the button on the side to expose her own knife. _  
_

They circle one another, two serpents coiled and ready to spring. Waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Waiting until the other will make a mistake, taking advantage of the weakness. Make the weakness your enemy's downfall.

Waiting until the kitchen door opens.

"Mommy, I'm home."

The two women make eye contact, Mary's expression full of controlled passion, Sally's beseeching. She takes half a moment to deliberate, but eventually, Mary nods, allowing a ceasefire as the young girl walks into the kitchen. They both hide their knives behind their backs, trying to tidy themselves up as best as they can.

"How was school?" Sally asks the young girl, a wide grin slapped across her face. He voice is calming, trying to pacify her startled daughter.

"Mommy, what happened to the living room?"

"Nothing, honey, I just slipped. Now, come on, you can't be in the kitchen right now. There's glass everywhere, I don't want you to get hurt." And though the words were directed at her daughter, Mary knew what Sally meant. Truly, she had no intention of hurting the woman's daughter. She knew what that was like.

While the young woman listened to her mother, it was with an apparent sense of skepticism, looking at the blonde woman in the kitchen, her expression obviously curious. Who was this woman who was just as beaten up, if not more, than her mother?

Sally noticed her daughter's discomfort, looking to Mary as well. "This is a friend of mine, baby. An old friend. I haven't seen her in... A very long time. Be polite, say hello." She encouraged her daughter, holding on to her shoulders. The girl nodded, giving the blonde stranger a gentle wave.

Mary waved back, giving the young girl a placid smile. "Hello, there. I'm Mary. What's your name?" She asked, still the girl remained silent. After a moment, Mary looked to Sally for an answer.

The other woman's lips twitched up a bit into something of a smile, though it was vaguely uncomfortable. "Her name's Philomena." She said, tucking a piece of hair behind the girl's ear.

"Oh, well. That's a very pretty name. Good thing it's for such a pretty young girl." Mary smiled, crouching down a moment so that she could look at the girl eye-to-eye, though she found it difficult to keep her knife hidden at the same time. "How old are you Philomena?"

There was no response from the girl until Sally jostled her delicately. "'Mena," Sally murmured in a warning tone. "Mary asked you a question. Be polite." She reminded.

"Four." The girl said. "I'm four."

"Aah, that's my girl!" Sally grinned, kissing the top of the girl's head. "Alright, then, baby, Mary and I need to have a long talk. We haven't seen each other in a long time, we have a lot to catch up on. Go to your room please, don't come out until I say so, right?" She said, patting on the girl's back, attempting to herd her out of the kitchen as Mary stood up slowly, turning to keep her weapon hidden. Yet Philomena didn't move. " _'Mena."_ Sally spoke again in that urgent tone. "Go. Room, now. Go."

After the second time, the girl listened, looking over her shoulder a minute at her mother.

"I love you, 'Mena." And with that, the girl was gone, padding up the stairs to her room.

Sally let out a stressed sigh, looking back to Mary.

"Tea?"

"Please." Mary breathed, tossing her knife on the counter, squeezing her eyes tiredly. She was still weak.

"You still take cream and sugar?"

"Some things never change."

Sally laughed, getting the necessary ingredients for making the beverages.

_Sally Donovan. Now a housewife. I remember when she was the Cobra. Back when I was Black Mamba. That was a lifetime ago... She married a forensic scientist, one that Sherlock had worked closely with before._

The two of them sit at the kitchen island in the silence, not sure where to begin talking. They drink from their mugs, stirring with metal spoons that clink on the sides of the porcelain, the only noise in the room.

Mary was the first to test the waters. "Did you expect me to ever show up on your doorstep?"

Sally shrugged, setting her mug on the granite counter before speaking. "I suppose I should've expected you. Sherlock called me a few days ago, he told me you woke up. He also mentioned that other thing you did."

At the second comment forced a twitch at the corner of Mary's mouth, but she controlled the urge to allow her mouth to split into a grin.

"I'm guessing that you aren't here to accept an apology."

"Nope. I won't be doing any such thing."

"What if I truly meant it?"

"I'm sure you mean it now." The smirk made its appearance, Mary not bothering to hide it any longer. Sally knew what was coming.

The woman leaned in close to Mary, her eyes fierce with maternal protection.

"Look, I need to know if you're going to try and attack me again around my daughter." She hissed, keeping her voice low, yet she knew her daughter would listen to her and stay in her room. Though there was a glimmer of dubiousness in her eye.

"Don't worry." Mary assured, waving a hand dismissively at Sally's nerves. "I'm not going to murder you in front of your daughter."

Sally blinked, seeming a bit taken aback by Mary's answer. "Sherlock really underestimates you. He lead me to believe that you were almost completely irrational." She murmured, crossing her legs atop the bar stool.

"Well. You and I both are well aware of Sherlock's ignorance. Especially when it comes to me, and  _especially_ what I'm thinking. What I'm going to do. I lack compassion. I don't have mercy. But if there's one thing I do have-- it's rationality." Mary pauses, thinking a moment. "I'll wait." She decided, taking a drink from her mug, as if she were having a casual conversation from a friend, discussing what she had for dinner the previous evening. "You can choose a time and place for us to meet. Preferably far away from your daughter. Like I said, I will not murder you in front of your daughter, that's just barbaric. Anyway, what was I saying...? Oh, yes. You can choose the time and place. This could've been a simple hit. I could've killed you and left for your daughter to find you. But I didn't. And for that, you should at the very  _least_ respect me. Especially after what you did. This is a duel, Sally. I want it to be an even fight. May the best woman win. Of course with the provided rules, you know them."

"Mar--" Sally tried to interrupt, but Mary held up her hand to stop her.

"Interrupting someone while they are speaking is incredibly rude, Sally." She warned, taking another drink of her tea before continuing. "Failure to meet at the designated time will result in your immediate termination. And it will come when you least expect. From the roof of a building across the street straight through the window and into the back of your God-forsaken skull." She hissed, her voice seeming to become increasingly callous and dark as the speech came to a close. But she perked up just as quickly, once again becoming the happy conversationalist. "Please, now feel free to respond to anything I've said." Mary welcomed, adjusting herself to be more comfortable at the bar stool.

Sally took a small breath, obviously uncomfortable with the situation, though she knew how this game was played. She knew just as well as Mary how to handle the situation.

"Listen, Mary. I... I wish I hand't done what I did... If i could go back and change it, I swear I would. But obviously that's not possible... My life would be so much different. Not to mention yours."

"I could really care less, Sally."

She sighed, beginning to recognize that there were few escape routes left in the situation. "I understand. I know that I don't deserve your forgiveness, let alone mercy. I beg you, please think of me. Think of my _daughter_ , Mary, I--"

Mary stops her, eyes ablaze. "Stop right there." It was a warning, quiet and intense. "Don't use your daughter against me. I don't want to kill you in front of her, but don't you dare think that showcasing her will make me feel anything near sympathy. We have business we need to finish, and that is precisely what I intend to do. Don't be distracting."

"I understand that you want to get even, Mary."

"No, no, no, no, no." Mary laughed, covering her face. "That is were you are oh, so wrong... If I wanted to get _even_ with you, I couldn't just kill  _you._ I would need to kill your baby girl. Not only that, I would need to march up those stairs, drag her down by the ear and slit her throat right in front of you. Then I would need to wait until Mr. Anderson got home, kill him, too. No, I don't want to get  _even._ " Mary said, shaking her head, seeming almost disappointed in the other woman. "I just want to be able to avenge the death of my unborn daughter."

The speech seems to bring Sally to her senses, realizing that no mater what, one of them would meet their end very soon. "So when is this happening?"

"That depends. When do you feel like dying? I can really only stick around a couple of days, I have other things I need to do."

"Fine. Let's do it tonight."

"Where?"

"There's a tennis court down the road. 2:30 a.m., black garb, everything tidy and clean. We won't be bothered by anyone then, the whole neighborhood will be asleep. We'll have a good, old-fashioned knife fight." Sally instructed, standing up. "I need to fix Philomena a snack." She murmured, walking over to a cabinet to reach down a box.

Mary chuckled quietly at the rules. "Sherlock always said you were the best with a knife."

Sally scoffed, making Mary smile.

"If you want to stay with your kitchen knife, I'll stay with what I have." She offered, putting the blade into her back pocket.

"You're truly hilarious." Sally said, her voice suddenly cold as she reaches inside the cardboard box when--

_BANG._

That awful sound, ringing again through the air. Mary ducks behind the island in time, the bullet directly hitting her mug of tea.

She throws herself to the floor, hearing the gun go off again, hitting the pristine wood floor.

Opening one of the drawers on the side of the island, Mary quickly locates a paring knife, her eyes wide as adrenaline courses through her system, making her move more quickly than she had been before, forcing her to keep going though her body was still fatigued. Damn muscle degeneration.

Sally is silent after a moment, almost pausing. Mary hears her take a step, and she goes in the opposite direction, taking the woman off-guard. Sally shoots in her direction, but misses anything vital, clipping Mary's shoulder, but she doesn't feel it yet as she hops on to the top of the island. Mary is significantly taller now, squatting for a fraction of a second to clutch on to a handful of Sally's hair, pulling up to force her head in the same direction, staring at the ceiling. In once swift move, Mary kicks the small gun out of the other woman's hands, her legs wrapping around her torso, as she allows her back to slam into the granite counter. And with one more movement of her wrist, the knife glides across the woman's neck.

Mary sets her down carefully, giving her a moment to speak, should she have anything to say.

Sally clutched on to her neck, the blood moving freely now that there was nothing to keep it inside her body. "I'm sorry." She wheezed, the words quiet, but still easy to discern. "Please... Please don't..."

"I won't lay a finger on her." Mary soothed, taking the woman's hand. "I promise."

After the woman stops breathing, Mary sets her on the floor gently, closing her eyes for her one last time. She tosses the knife into the sink, making a clanking sound against the aluminum. As she turns, Mary locks eyes with someone else, and after a moment of brief horror (which she disguised easily) realizes that they belong to Sally's daughter.

"I'm sorry." She says, her voice truly apologetic. "I didn't mean for you to see this. But know this: your mom deserved it." She nodded, walking toward the front door. "If you still feel the need for revenge in you when you get older, I'll be waiting for you."

* * *

 

Mary sat in the car, tapping a red pen against her lips, looking down at a piece of paper in contemplation.

 ~~Molly Hooper~~  
Sally Anderson  
Mycroft Holmes  
Irene Adler  
SHERLOCK

She scratched off the second name.

 

 


	2. Chapter II - Waking Up (part one)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We learn how Mary lost her child and who the members of her hit list are

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like this chapter, please leave a comment/kudos!! It motivates me to keep writing :)

_Five years ago._

Mary lays limply on the bed, eyes open, yet unseeing, glazed over and staring. Whether that look was directed toward the ceiling or the heavens, even she didn't know. But then again, there wasn't anything  _to_ know. Her mind was blank, completely void of anything save the signals that her brain sent out to the rest of her body, telling her to breathe and her heart to beat. Even those simple tasks required the help of the enormous machine that was attached to her body, making a beeping noise every few seconds, letting the world know that she was still alive. Even if she was just holding on.

At the entrance of the hospital, a car pulls up, breaks squeaking gently as it comes to a complete stop. A woman steps out, putting up her umbrella to shield herself from the rain. Her tall heels clack against the pavement, alerting anyone surrounding her that she had arrived, whoever she happened to be.

Mary knows her. She has for years, but she's too close to the gap between life and not life that she wouldn't have noticed anyway.

The woman goes past the entrance, the doors sliding open for her with ease. She puts her umbrella away, putting it in a tall plastic tube by the door where a few others are already placed. Walking down the hall, no one seems to notice her, in spite of the noise her shoes are making. Perhaps she gave off an air of authority that everyone chose to obey. She walked into the women's restroom, taking out a bag, which upon opening revealed a change of clothes.

And still Mary slept, as the woman continued to draw closer to her. Eyes open, staring blankly. Staring up. Still looking up. Even if she had wanted to move, she couldn't.

She dressed herself quickly, the final product being a nurse uniform. It was white and pristine, just as clean and sterile as the surrounding hospital. She reached into her bag again, coming out with a small bottle and a syringe.

Mary would've known where this was going. She would've already been up and out of the room through the window if she'd been alive enough.

_Goodbye forever_ the bottle read, the woman's red-painted nails pulling down on the stopper to fill the syringe.  
She walked down the hallway, weapon of choice in hand, and costume spotless.  
Finally, she made it to Mary's room, letting herself in, closing the door behind her silently. No one would have suspected a thing.

* * *

 

Oh, yes. Mary knew this one-eyed woman. Irene Adler was hardly ever good news, especially in the Bride's position.  
She was completely vulnerable, at the mercy of her ex-comrade.

"You know, Mary. I never liked you." The woman smirked, red lips turning up at the corners. "But don't think I don't respect you, I do very much. You're a master of your art. And  _because_ I respect you, I am going to do you this one last favor..." She explained, her voice cool, as if she were explaining a complex concept to a young child. "People very often, when asked, say that they would in any circumstance prefer death to be delivered to them while sleeping. It's considered a luxury, I suppose. And this will be my final gift to you, Mary. You can drift off into whichever place you're at right now in your mind, and you will never even know th--"

The woman was interrupted, her phone chiming loudly in an attempt to gain her attention. She hissed as she answered, knowing exactly who she would be speaking to.

"Hello, Sherlock.  
Yes.  
She's comatose.  
Yes, I'm sure, I'm standing--  
_What?!"_

Irene turned away from Mary, beginning to pace across the linoleum floor, staring intently at it as she listened to the person on the other line.

"If you think for one minute that I came all the way down here, just to kiss her goodnight, you--!  
Don't you dare shush me!  
You don't owe her anything.  
_You don't owe her anything!_  
Oh, you're not? Well, I thought you always said to never leave a job half finished."

Though initially Irene's features had shown hints of aggression and anger while the man spoke, they seemed to soften as he continued to talk. Apparently he was beginning to make more sense.

"Fine. I won't.  
I understand.  
Yes, understood.  
I love you, too."

She smiled at the last remark, looking over her shoulder at the comatose woman.

"I'll be back soon.  
Okay.  
Okay, bye."

And with that, Irene closed the call, hanging up with a note of finality to the action. She turned around, pacing slowly and silently toward Mary, staring at her intently.

"If you would like a word of advice, never wake up, darling." She scoffed, crossing her arms as she stood over the woman. She studied Mary's face, her eyes filled with scrutiny.

"You know, now that I'm looking at you up close... You're really not that pretty. I've no idea why he was so infatuated with you... Your eyes look tired, your nose is all wrong. And even your skin!" Irene implored, tucking a piece of her raven hair behind her ear. "Mine's better than yours--" She insists, holding down on to Mary's neck a moment, an act of intimidation, though she knew there was no one inside the body to be intimidated.

A reflex left over by her body's natural forces forced Mary to spit, directly into Irene's face, which twisted up into disgust and horror as she backed away from the Bride.

"Little bitch." She hissed, pulling Mary up by the collar of her hospital gown into a position which resembled sitting up, but the woman was incredibly limp, barely able to support her own head. Irene swung back and punched her, square in the face. She counted: once, twice, three times. Finally, she dropped her, letting the woman fall back on to the bed.

"If you ever get out of here, I swear to god, I will beat you into the damn ground."

 


	3. Chapter II - Waking Up (part two)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five years later

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the second part of chapter two  
> Commenting and leaving kudos is highly encouraged! :)

_Five years later._

The room is hot, filled with the irksome hum mosquito wings.

Mary still lays motionless on her hospital bed, eyes still open, after all these years, still open and dry.

And suddenly, the buzzing stops.

Its landed on her, sucking intently from her veins, stealing the blood from its host.

And just as quickly as the insect landed, it's been smacked by the Bride's hand, her brain processing the discomfort in her arm, the other responding in order to make it stop. She flicks the bug away, her arm returning to its proper place.

Slowly, very slowly, her eyes begin to close, feeling calm and peaceful finally. Her lids close, and for a moment, she's content, taking a deep breath in and out before--

_BANG._

The eyes snap open, and screams, holding her hand to her head, feeling the space where she'd been shot. She's met with a gentle  _tink!_ sound. She repeats the gesture, realizing that there's a metal plate there now. But then, with a sickening realization, she sits up, grasping on to her stomach.

"The baby." She murmurs, feeling her empty stomach. It feels wrong. There's something missing. She lifts up her hospital gown, realizing that there's a long scar across her belly where the baby had been. "My baby..."

She screams, feeling sick. The baby is gone. Her baby is gone.

Feeling her fingertips against her skin, Mary looks down at her hand. It's more wrinkled. She murmurs numbers to herself, trying to figure out this puzzle she'd woken up to.  _How long How long._

She stops her counting, completely numb with realization and grief.

"Five years." She thought out loud, still not sure until she counts one more time. "Five years..." She decided, her voice quiet and weak with tears.

After half a second, Mary hears the sound of footsteps down the hall. The only thing she can think of is Sherlock, his feet walking away from her the last thing she remembers, other than the sound of the gunshot.

An orderly is walking down the hallway, his footsteps sounding nothing like Sherlock's, but that seems to be the only noise Mary can create in her mind.

_Tak, tuk, tak, tuk, tak, tuk._

Pet, pat, pet, pat, pet, pat.

_"She's in here."  
_ "She's in here."

Mary tries to think quickly, ignoring the sound of Sherlock's voice. That was five years ago, he isn't here. He's God knows where and she's here, on a hospital bed with a metal plate stuck to the side of her head that he put there.

Deciding it's her best option, she slams her back down to the bed again, deciding to play dead. Well... Not quite dead. Comatose. Only sleeping. Eyes open, but still sleeping.

The orderly enters the room, but he's not alone. Mary can hear another pair of shoes padding across the linoleum. They both come into her field of vision. Mary starts to panic as she recognizes Sherlock, whatever medications she's on forcing her to project him on to the orderly. She noted that the orderly is reaching toward her. His face is twisted up in a disgusting half-grin. His hands clench on to the sheets covering her body, and Mary can only watch in what is now conscious revulsion at the fact that she is completely exposed. The orderly lifts the sheets off, and Mary is struggling to keep her pulse regulated. If she starts to panic, they'll be able to hear it on the monitor.

The orderly grins wider as he inspects her exposed body, lifting up her hospital gown even farther. He takes a step away, nodding toward her while looking at the other man in the room.

"Well? Ain't she a beaut?" He guffaws, the sound of his voice making Mary feel nauseous. He sounded so immensely pleased with himself. Like he was showing a blue-ribbon winning animal at the county fair.

"I seen better in my day." The other man grunted, seemingly unimpressed.

"Yeah, maybe in a porno you did." The orderly shot back, his voice almost offended. "You ain't had a 'pertunity to touch that, though, int that right?" He paused, looking for some sort of approval that he wasn't going to receive from the other, much larger man. "I tell you what, it's $75 a fuck, but there gonna be some ground rules." He started, taking the money from the man who had started to smirk to himself. Mary had no other option than to look at him. If her eyes moved, she would be done.

The orderly counted the fare, confirming that the amount was accurate. "Awright... Rule One:" The orderly started, counting off on his fingers. "No punching. She can spit sometimes, it's a reflex. But we got a nurse coming in tomorrow to check on her, so she can't be all bruised up or nothin'. Got that?"

"Yeah." The man growled, seeming completely uninterested.

"Okay, good. Second rule: no hickeys or marks. At all. Anything other than that is fair game. She was pregnant when they brought 'er in, and they messed up her stuff when they had to take the baby out. She don't work anymore down there, so you don' need to worry about protection. Keep down your volume, I'll be back in 20 minutes." The orderly began to walk away, but then he remembers something, turning back around to face the man. "Almost forgot, here's this." He said, tossing him a jar of Vaseline. "You may need that."

Mary is still unmoved, terrified of the repercussions. But a point was reached and she couldn't wait any longer. She blinked.

"Fuck, Chuck!" The man called back to the orderly, who turned around in the doorway to face him.

"What?"

"She blinked."

"The fuck you mean 'she blinked'? She's in a coma, she can't blink. You just got the jitters is all."

"I dunno man..."

"It's fine. Don't want to be out $75, do you?"

And with that, the orderly (apparently named Chuck) walked out of the room, leaving Mary alone with the other man.

He starred her down, though to his knowledge there was nothing really for him to be looking at. Undoing his belt, he crawled up over Mary, who was still staring up toward the ceiling. 

"You are pretty as hell." He chuckled.

 

Outside, Chuck waited, making sure no one walked by to hear what was going on inside the room. He checked his watch, noting that the man inside still had a ample amount of time. But after a moment, he heard a bit of a scuffle, and he began to grow a bit worried. "Hey, man, you gotta keep it down." He hissed through the door, the only response being a series of screams. After a moment of silence, there was a soft thud.

Inside, Mary still appeared to be in her coma, but the man was on the floor now, a small pool of blood beginning to form near his head. Mary's mouth was smeared with blood, apparently she had torn out his neck. "Fuck you." She hissed, swinging her legs over the side of the hospital bed, intending to walk out of the room. The next thing she knew, Mary was on the ground, on the opposite side of the bed as the man. "What the--?" She cursed, looking down toward her legs. She'd forgotten that being in a coma meant that her muscles would atrophy. Her legs were thin, barely anything other than skin and bone at this point. Mary groaned, crawling toward the other side of the bed to see if the man had anything useful on him.

Once the room grew quiet again, Chuck relaxed, checking his watch. He had about ten minutes left.

She went through his pockets, smirking to herself when she found a knife in his back pocket. Clicking the button on the side, she tested the knife on his wrist, nodding as a steady stream of blood began to flow from the cut. It would be perfect.

Chuck checked his watch once more. Time was up.

"Alright, that's--. Oh...  _Shit._ "

He cursed, letting himself back inside. He saw the man on the floor, the bed empty and splattered with droplets of blood, not to mention the amount that was flowing out of him and on to the floor. But where was the patient?

Not another second passed before he knew, feeling a sharp pain coming from his ankles. He fell to the floor, his face first, making impact with the linoleum on the bone above his eyebrow, creating a simple cut over his eye.

Mary crawled over, cleaning the knife quickly on her gown, dragging the orderly over to the door with only the use of her hands, her useless legs dragging behind her as she held the knife in her mouth. Finally, she reached the door, placing his head between the frame and the large slab of wood. Slam.  _Slam. **Slam.**_  The door closing on his head with what seemed like increasing urgency with every time.

The orderly looked up, shocked to see the comatose bride moving, her eyes blinking, her mouth moving.

"Where is he? Where's Sherlock?" She insisted, though Chuck seemed to be having trouble. Maybe he'd already suffered brain damage.

"Who?" Slam! The door closed on his head again, and he screamed.

"Sherlock! Where is he?!"

"I don't know him! I don't know any Sherlock!" The door slammed again.

"I saw him here!" Another slam. "Tell me where he is or I'll crush your skull!" Mary snarled, the door closing on his head again.

"Please! Please don't hit me again! I told you, I don't know!"

"Where's Sherlock?!" She demanded, closing the door more forcefully than ever before. She paused a moment, noticing a ring on his finger. She'd seen that on Sherlock, where did the orderly get it from? "That isn't yours."

"What?"

"Where did you get that? The ring?"

"It's mine." Mary slammed the door.

"That's a lie! I saw Sherlock wearing it! He was here 20 minutes ago!" She screamed, the door shutting on his head, each time becoming more aggressive.

Mary paused a moment, looking down at the orderly, looking at the finger the ring was on, realizing that there was a series of tattoos on his knuckles. One hand (the left) read "C H U C K" the right, "F U C K". Mary paused, seeming to remember something, her mind going back to something else, from five years ago. 

_"Well, you really are a cutie... I'll just introduce myself, dear. You can call me Chuck, and I'm here to fuck."_

Pausing a moment, Mary looked down at the man slowly, her gaze calculative and focused. "You're here to fuck, hm?" She asked, and in spite of her sharp gaze, her voice was still soft, almost ethereal. Mary smiled at him, reaching into his breast pocket to take out a pair of sunglasses that he probably bought from the dollar store. The gold paint was already chipping off. With a final twitch of her lips, she reached up to the door handle for the last time, using all of her weight to push it closed, grunting quietly.

The door came down, the result a sickening thud as the man's skull was jammed between the metal frame and the thick wooden door. Tension that had been in his neck released, the back of his head falling to the floor. The damage to his brain caused him to twitch, his extremities flailing about with no way to stop them. It was possible that there was no way for him to stop the movement himself. But Mary wasn't going to sit around to wait and see if he had any brain function left.

She pulled him back inside the room and closed the door.

* * *

 

In hindsight, Mary decided that it should have been significantly more difficult to find a wheelchair. But, she also had to consider the fact that she was in the same wing of the hospital where all the people in a vegetative state were kept. Whoever designed the hospital was probably betting on the fact that the people from her wing probably wouldn't be doing much of anything. Not to mention dragging themselves around to find an easier mode of transport.

She pulled the wheels down the pavement of the empty parking lot, trying to find the matching key to the vehicle that had been in Chuck's pocket. Well, she supposed it was her pocket now. She sniffed at the top of the scrubs that she'd taken from him, grimacing. It smelled like cigarette smoke and day-old sweat. Once she could walk, she decided she would buy some new clothes.

Mary rounded a corner in the parking lot, noting a bright red pick up truck. The back bumper was emblazoned with: "CHUCK" in a flaming type. She sighed, loathing the fact that she had to (of anyone) use his car. But she knew she had to work with what she had. These were her options, and she could go back to the hospital and rot or she could get into this damn car and kill the sons of bitches that put her there. The former didn't even seem like a possibility in her mind.

The wheels of the chair squeaked once she came to a stop at the car, using the key to let herself inside.

It was much easier said than done. Truth be told, she had expected that being able to lift herself up into the back seat would've been  _much_ easier. She first took a deep breath, reaching toward the safety handle on the roof of the cab. Fortunately, in order to keep with his style, Chuck's truck was set very low. But still, even with that small favor, Mary had much trouble. Her arms were still weak, forget the legs entirely. Her arms were almost as useless, any muscle mass that she had built up five years ago now completely gone, left with skin. She was hungry, and just reaching up into the car and pulling slightly had her dizzy from the exertion. But the thought of Sherlock and what he did and what she was now  _going_ to do... Mary yelled, using what energy she had left in her system to pull up as hard as she could. Tears welled up in her eyes, and a vessel broke, the eye turning an angry shade of red. The seat was touching her knees now, she could see where she would land if she decided to let go now. But she needed to go a bit farther. Just one more stretch and she would be there. Just one more. One more. One more push.

There was a final yell, and she let go, falling face first on to the seat. She sat a moment, allowing herself to recover, letting her heart rate go back to normal.

After she had relaxed, Mary flipped over, sitting up against the opposite door of the car. Leaning over, she closed the door she had entered through, giving herself some privacy. She sighed.

"Now, little toe....  _wiggle._ "

 

 


	4. Chapter III - The Ballad Of Molly Hooper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mary reflects upon the last five years and the people that made them comatose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is told from Mary's perspective, after this whole story has finished in the form of a journal. It was difficult to figure out a way to make this chapter work, and to still remain as true to the movie as possible, but I decided this was the best way to go about it. :) Comments/kudos highly appreciated!

_Entry Three:_

_I sat in the back of the pick up truck. It was night when I got in the car, and I don't quite remember how long I locked myself inside, but I know that it was light by the time I was able to get up and walk around to get into the driver's side. As I sat, willing my legs to return from their atrophied state, was when I really started to bring up the past._

_It was in those hours that I was there, for God knows how long, I truly decided. Those bastards were gonna pay. I'd already known from some part of me that I was going to do it, but it was making the decision I suppose. Saying the words in my head. It made it real. It made me want it more, to walk, to get them. To get Sherlock. Ultimately he was the one responsible, so he would be last. I'd start with the Squad, picking them off slowly, purposefully, til it started to mess with his mind. He wouldn't be able to think clearly, and that was his biggest downfall._

_Eventually, I formed a mental list. Starting with Hooper. Cottonmouth Hooper._

_Unfortunately, the downside to a five-year coma is the fact that you have very little idea what's happened over the course of that time. I had no idea where these people were, their strengths and weaknesses. But if I knew one thing for certain. Just one piece of information that could help me. As sure as there was no baby in my arms, I knew... That if Molly Hooper, the first name on my list was still alive. She'd be in Hong Kong._

_Molly had her first brush with death when she was 11.  
_ _The half-British half-German British Army brat witnessed the murder of her Major General father, and the rape and murder of her mother. The group responsible was the street criminal organization known as The Black Lotus. The crime was lead by one of their most vicious leaders: Eddie Van Coon._

_The young Hooper swore revenge, and luckily, she got it. At 13 years old, she seduced the pedophile Van Coon. She killed him while he was vulnerable, ridding the world of the man that had destroyed her family, along with her innocence._

_By 20 years old, she was one of the top female assassins in the world. By 23, she joined Sherlock's Squad. At 25, she played a part in killing eight innocents, including my daughter, who was still yet to be born._

_But she made one mistake that day:  
She should've killed nine._

_But before I could start to make my way toward sweet revenge..._

* * *

 

" _Wiggle._ " _  
_

A grin quickly split across Mary's lips. Finally her foot had obeyed.

"Alright, that was the hard part. Now let's get these other ones moving."


End file.
